


Burning the Midnight Oil

by BlueForestFox



Category: Designations - Fandom, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Buddies, Late Night Work, random co-worker shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 06:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueForestFox/pseuds/BlueForestFox
Summary: Random super short piece with Newt and Hermann doing work-stuff. Basically just revolves around Newton getting stuck in his binder and needing a hand. Those things can be like Chinese finger-traps sometimes. Also it is late, and as per usual these two have been working too much and sleeping too little.My first and only stab at writing these two, purely as a gift for a friend because they write them SO well.





	Burning the Midnight Oil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookmarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookmarc/gifts).



Newt needs to change his shirt.

This small but significant fact is growing more pressing by the moment, likely because he’s finally not focusing on anything with enough intensity to miss the fact that he smells like stale coffee. Actually, at the moment, he’s not really thinking about anything, and his mind is doing a good impersonation of a ‘spinning beach ball of doom’ as he stares at the screen in front of him with glazed eyes. 

This, he thinks, is likely a waste of brain power, but he has to grudgingly admit he’s not sure how much of that he had left, anyway. He used up most of it over the last twenty-six or so hours spent awake, and since then has been running on a mix of caffeine, aspirin, and the snacks that Mako was thoughtful enough to drop off at the lab. Reckoning ‘brain power’ at this time might be a moot point. 

He is roused from his state of mild delirium by a small beep from the computer in front of him, which has  _ finally _ finished cataloging the last set of kaiju DNA code he uploaded. He still smells like coffee. Newton finishes logging the date and pushes the rolling computer chair back slightly, his gaze passing over his frontside, where a large brownish stain is still covering a good portion of his white shirt. 

“Dammit.” He mutters, as if he is only now realizing the effects of spilling coffee on oneself, rather than during the actual occurrence which was, what, half an hour ago? What time is it anyway. He checks the clock. Twenty-one hundred hours. Jesus. 

There is still more data to log. He still needs to finish the pancreas analysis he was working on. He needs to change his damn shirt. 

Newt stands, wobbles slightly as his vision goes a bit faded for a moment, and pulls his tie off while simultaneously reminding himself to drink some water. He has clothes here somewhere, for such purposes as this. It’s far from the first time he’s spilled coffee on himself, and it’s unlikely to be the last. The spare shirts are in a duffel in the corner under the desk that he’d been using as his ‘paperwork’ repository. At this point it looks one good knock away from unleashing an avalanche of packets and papers onto the floor. Newt manages to extricate the duffel without too much struggle, and rips it open to rifle through its innards. There’s actually a lot there, and he takes a moment to congratulate his past self on some good planning and foresight. 

He debates changing his binder for a long moment, eventually resorting to the ‘smell check’, and upon discovering it smells like coffee, he pulls a spare binder out of the duffel as well. He walks back towards his desk, and can’t help but notice Hermann as he does. Hermann has scooted his chair back far enough that Newton can see him past the large panel screen that divides their computer desks into little partial cubicles. He’s looking at Newton with raised eyebrows, and his expression falls notably into one of disdain as Newton walks back towards his own desk. 

“What? Coffee.” Newton points in explanation to his front as best he can with his hands full. Hermann is silent, but his mouth is slightly twisted in the corner, in that obnoxious way it does when something falls noticeably short of his ‘approval’. 

“What?” Newton asks again, sounding slightly annoyed. 

“I had hoped you were leaving.” Hermann says flatly, scooting back behind the dividing screen. 

“Well sorry to disappoint, dude.” Newton is left to scowl at the dividing screen, which he does with fervor, before going to sit in his computer chair and start undoing his buttons. 

“It has nothing to do with  _ disappointment _ , it has to do with your general well being.” Hermann keeps a small amount of the exasperation out of his voice. Newt can hear his keyboard clicking. 

“Well excuse me, but I think changing into clean attire is actually pretty damn good for well being. At least, a good sight better than I might usually do in a situation where there’s this much work I need to finish.” Newt rolls his eyes, despite the fact that Hermann can’t see him, and finally manages to undo all his buttons. He peels the still wet shirt off and pushes it to one corner of his desk.

Newton, you have been working for over twenty-four hours. Straight. How you expect to accomplish anything of value at this point is, admittedly, beyond me.” Hermann’s voice sounds weird, bouncing slightly around the dividing screen enhanced by the metallic acoustics of the room. 

“Your concern is overwhelming.” Newt makes no effort to mask his sarcasm, as he begins the arduous process of pulling his binder over his head. It’s still wet. 

“Where I in your position I might seek out something to eat other than poky and a protein bar, before making at least an  _ attempt _ at getting some sleep.” Hermann is muttering in earnest now, and by his tone still thoroughly invested in whatever is on his screen. Newt’s attention is likewise straying from their half-earnest argument, as his binder is beginning to be more of a problem than anticipated. 

“Were you in my--ermf--position,” He wrestles with it, the thick black fabric bunching around the width of his shoulders and seeming intent on remaining there permanently, “you might have other priorities at the moment.” 

Hermann makes an exasperated noise from the other side of the divider. Newt is now thoroughly stuck. Both his arms are still snared, and his arms are pinned quite firmly near his shoulders where the binder has bunched. He has mobility of his wrists, at least, but so far has managed only a good impersonation of a seizing fish with his flipper-hands. He twists slightly in the chair, bending his midsection. As if that would do any good. Newt is not claustrophobic. He does not consider himself to  _ be _ claustrophobic. At the moment the combination of having little more than flailing hands at his disposal, not being able to inhale fully, and whatever coffee burnout-madness is happening in his brain, is making him wonder if this is what claustrophobia feels like. He makes another wriggling attempt, with little effect. 

There is a second, much louder noise of annoyance from Hermann’s side of the divider. 

“Newton! What in the world are you doing?!”

It occurs to Newt at this point that the amount of noise he has been liking is likely more than he realized. He stops struggling for a moment, and sits, still tied up in his own clothing, and goes over his options. The prognosis is not overly positive. He lets the seconds drag out as long as he dares, but one of his arms is already falling asleep and the other probably isn’t far behind. 

“Umm, Hermann?” 

“What?” Hermann bites back. 

“I, uh, I think I might need a hand.” There is a lengthy silence. Something about the trepidation in Newt’s tone likely took Hermann’s edge off, as he doesn’t respond with any short quips. There’s the sound of his computer chair rolling back again. Newt turns around in his seat feeling beyond utterly ridiculous. Hermann is staring at him. Newt wasn’t sure if he expected Hermann to laugh, or say something smart, but either way Hermann just stares at him for a long moment. Newt finally waves his little flipper hands. 

“Um, would you mind? I seem to be a bit...stuck.” 

Hermann hesitates for a brief moment, stands, and walks over. He is exceedingly gentle when he takes ahold of the binder, but his grip is surprisingly strong, and pulls until Newt can get an arm free. Newt does the rest, gasping slightly as his lungs fill with the proper amount of air. Hermann watches Newt for a moment before asking hesitantly, “Are you alright?”

“Huh?” Newt looks up as he wriggles into the spare binder and goes to pull on the shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Um...thanks.” He finishes awkwardly, buttons his shirt. Hermann gives a stiff nod and returns to his desk. Newt picks up his dirty clothes and walks them to the duffel in the corner, and goes to get water while he’s up. When he sits back down Hermann has put on some music, quiet classical, and Newt can hear his keyboard again. It’s getting late. Newt should sleep--try to sleep at least. Going to all the trouble of putting on another binder makes him reticent, so he finishes checking the data log, buying enough time to decide. He’ll go to his room. He’ll at least lie down for a bit, even if his mind is too busy with everything he’s working on to let him sleep. Being horizontal is starting to sound exceedingly nice. 

He mutters something about taking the dirty clothes back to his room and stands. He walks out, follows the almost empty halls and artificial lights back to his room. He’ll just lie down. He has some steam in him yet, or maybe it’s just the coffee. Either way, it’ll work. He only bothers to pull off his shoes when he gets back, and due to recent trauma at the hands of his garments, opts for keeping his shirt and binder on. He lies down on the cool comforter and throws his glasses on the bedside table. Just a few minutes rest, then he’ll get some real food, get his crap together, and finish his data logs. 

He’s asleep in seconds. 


End file.
